


Dust, Calligraphy, and Golden Verdure

by Evenseven



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Connor is confused but NOT dumb, Depression, Emotionally Repressed, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jericrew, Kinda Dark, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Modern Era, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, what do you mean plot?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: Markus Manfred seemed to fit the perfect student image. He’s cool and the leader type, he chewed those textbooks better than any nerd, and he played in the college soccer team. Yet he’s also a walking mystery, spending a lot of time painting alone and drowning in his own head.Connor was the only person saw that subtle difference in Markus, but he himself was confused enough about life already.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	1. Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags and be aware of the trigger warnings. Though it's still very subtle and nothing too descriptive.  
> Normally I would write at least some of the story outline, but this one nope, nada, niente. I have no idea what I will write and when I will update. And I’m vary bad at writing any multi-chapter fic, so, you have been warmed. Also, I do apologize for my bad writing…
> 
> This AU is gonna be a bit different from the "traditional character background design" college AU for DBH. Mostly about Connor. But I made Markus a NOT political science major and he plays soccer, now that's a big enough change right? (x)

** We crashed into each other like two meteors.  **

** As one collapsed and scattered,  **

** the other reborn and prospered. **

** - **

Markus quietly stepped out of the small art studio in the corner of the instruction building, stretched the muscles on his neck as he walking to the stairs. He just finished an oil painting that he had been doing for the last two weeks, cleaned up the painting supplies and set his painting in a corner of the room to dry. He barely noticed the sun was setting and the fact that he spent the whole afternoon siting in that chair. The tiny painting studio for students was no where near as good as Carl’s studio at home, with all the natural lighting and advanced equipments. Tough he enjoyed the time he was left alone in some dark nook in the school, at least he didn’t have to put on the social face.

Speaking of dark nook, he should probably go to the other Arts department building to pick up his photographs. 

Markus stared at the vending machine by the stairs for a minute, deciding he had enough of coffee for today and those chocolate-ish candies Simon gave him tasted gross. He headed downstairs with nothing from the vending machine, and that’s when he heard some whispers from his back as he walking down from the third floor.

“Shit, did you see him? He’s just so…pretty.”

“How can you believe that? Being pretty _and_ smart at the same time?”

“Probably gene mutation or some shit, did you see his eyes?”

“That’s called heterochromia you idiot! And I heard he’s fucking rich too, how is any of this fair?”

“Shhhh he’s gonna hear you just shut it…”

_Fair._

_It isn’t._

Markus tried his best not to laugh, though it wasn’t not funny in any way, and maybe those gossipers weren’t the one he would laugh at.

Himself, maybe.

There were lots of things in this world that weren’t fair, like how the people of colors were treated and how desperate for those who escaped from an abusive relationship, and he was making effort to change that. He watched his people suffered, and it killed him to stay silent. But about himself…He really didn’t know what to do to change that.

If it truly was unfair, there would be only one way out. 

Markus pretended he didn’t hear anything, just like he always did, and pushed the door to outside without hesitation, to change the scenery from a suffocating miniature space to open outdoor area.

Change of lightings and props, change of shades and strokes, change of emotions and lives.

Markus was many things in others’ eyes. He’s the debate team leader, the popular one, the pretty one with brown skin and two different color irises, the soccer star, the quiet artist, and the walking mystery. He had a charming smile and a gentle tone, a group of friends he hanged out with a lot, and a grade record even more beautiful than his face. But when he’s not smiling, he always seemed preoccupied with things unsaid, a creeping shadow, or maybe just the weather.

Like if the thunder roars, he shut down like a machine out of batteries.

Today should not be one of those days, he let out a silent sigh as he held his head up to look at the sky. It’s clear tonight and almost no trace of cloud, the half moon raising from above the art studio, leaked a gentle shade of warmth to the dark night.

It was supposed to be a nice day, so why was he feeling so tensed?

He must be sinking too deep into the painting he did.

Markus blinked hard a few times to shake away the random thoughts in his head, he decided to go check on his roommate and friend Simon, and maybe stop him from eating those disgusting chocolate candies.

He walked towards the direction of Sociology school but stumbled at the sight of what seemed like a man sitting on the floor by the sinuous route, resting his arms on the stone bench to his left and panting heavily. Markus looked around to scan the campus path, the campus was no way near crowded at 9:32pm, there’s no other student and no sign of danger nearby.

Out of pure empathy he slowly approached the man and kneeled down in front of him, keeping a safe distance but close enough for him to examine the situation carefully. “Hey buddy…Are you alright?” He asked with a gentle voice, didn’t want to scare the man in consideration of how he looked panicked enough.

The man stayed silent for a while longer, before his breath started to settled down and back to normal pace, then he looked up to meet Markus’ eyes. “Em, y-yeah, I’m okay.” His voice still trembled a little.

“Are you sure? Do you need any help? Should I call the emergency or take you to the health center?”

_The health center on campus was closed at this time, you dumbass._

Markus noticed the man had flawless skin under the dim orange streetlight, a skin tone much lighter than his, and those slightly waved dark hair looked quite soft. He had big brown eyes, they’re charming though slightly out of focus at the moment. He was indeed a handsome young man, in the eyes of an artist or not.

“Em, yeah, I’m okay now…Thank you.” Now he sounded much more in control than before, as if the panic Markus just witnessed never happened. So Markus reached out a hand to help him up to his feet, and sit back on the bench instead of the floor, the man offered him a warm smile in return.

“Okay…Did anything bad happen? I mean, is there anything I can do to help? Cause’ you really didn’t look so well.” Markus tried not to sound over-reacted, but if it’s something serious that needed the campus police or emergency service involved, he shouldn’t hesitated to help a student in need.

“Oh no, it’s nothing, just…I lost control for a second, but I’m totally fine now. Thank you though, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, I really didn’t do anything,” Markus smiled back, seeing the young man wasn’t as white as a sheet anymore, “Maybe you could use some water, if you don’t need the health center. There’s a coffee shop right around that Sociology building over there, and they’re still open.”

“Em, yeah, you’re right, that’s probably a good idea.” He tried to stand up after taking another deep breath, and Markus studied him carefully: “You know what, I can company you there, just in case you’re not fully recovered yet. I was going to the Sociology building anyway, what do you say?”

The man blinked at him, and he couldn’t help but notice how stunning those dark lashes were.

“Sure, if you were going there as well…Thank you, again.” They started walking and the man decided to introduce himself, “My name is Connor, by the way.”

Markus smiled: “Well, nice to meet you then, Connor, I’m…”

“Markus, right? You’re Markus Manfred?”

“Um, yeah that’s my name, do you know me?” Markus licked his bottom lip, suddenly feeling a bit tensed for no specific reason.

Connor titled his head to face him as they’re walking, those clear brown eyes looked at him with a certain spark of curiosity. “Yes, I mean, you’re famous, I’m sure at least half of the school know you.”

“That’s not true…” A breath caught in Markus’s throat, he thought of the gossips he heard in the staircase not long earlier and he couldn’t find his words, “I-I’m not famous, nothing like that. I’m not—”

_Yes, you are. You’re famous and perfect and everyone knows you and you know what to do._

_But I’m not. But I don’t._

Some where in the back of his mind he could admit it, that Connor was right, that the gossipers got a point or two.

What could he do when they pointed it out like a definite fact that he had a beautiful face, a perfect school record, and an unbelievably rich family? He didn’t see himself any special in those ways. He wasn’t the one chose to be born with this appearance, he didn’t ask for being adopted by a famous painter, and certainly never meant to show off and out-perform any of his peers. He wasn’t trying to prove a point, he was just doing what he could and painting what he loved. It was never easy for Markus, no matter what they said, he donated lots of time in studio and library, he gave his best when he’s in the soccer field, he worked his ass off for Jericho to make a change to this world, he barely slept. He wasn’t in love with the speeches and social events, or the galas and charity dinners, he only did it because it would help those in need.

He wasn’t trying to prove a point, but of course they won’t see.

They saw him as an icon of beauty and fame, of prestige and wealth.

But what was him, really? What was him chasing, and was it worth chasing? What was him without those titles and achievements, and was he deserve any?

“Are you alright, Markus? You were zooming out…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be unpleasant.”

Markus glanced back at those brown puppy eyes and let out a soft sigh: “No need to apologize, you’re not unpleasant…Look, just take a seat, I’ll get you some water and a coffee for myself.”

The coffee shop was pretty quiet at this time of the night, only a few students reading silently or working on their laptops. The lighting inside the room was warm and cozy with enigmatic piano melody humming at the background. The two baristas were chatting with each other by the espresso machine behind the counter, one of them smiled at Markus as she saw him approaching.

Markus walked back to Connor with two cups in hand. He decided to get himself some nice hot earl grey tea, and handed the water to Connor, who thanked him yet again.

“Do you come here often? The barista seemed to know you well.” There’s something delightful about Connor’s voice that Markus couldn’t exactly name, something that made him sound smooth and intelligent at the same time. He felt like he could tell a lot of things about him just based on his voice, though he barely know about Connor at all.

“Not really, I come here sometimes just to meet my friend, but I wouldn’t say I’m a regular.”

“See? That just proved my point.”

“I’m not famous, Connor, I don’t think I am.” He sighed into his earl grey, eyes fixed on his drink.

“But you’re _the_ Markus Manfred after all, a lot of people in this college admire you.” There was a note of confusion in Connor’s voice, as if he couldn’t comprehend the meaning of this words.

“…Admire is a strong word, I don’t see myself being ‘admired,’ ” He tried to keep his calm, but talking about himself always made him uncomfortable in a strange way, “But that’s enough about me, what about you? You’re a student as well, right?”

“Yes, I’m a sophomore double in Psychology and Criminal Justice.” Connor smiled at him and answered relaxingly.

“Cool majors, your career direction is pretty clear,” Markus replied in a half-joking tone, “I’ve always wished I could learn more about psychology, but my sociology-major friend told me not to freak any more people out, so I just followed his advice.”

“I’m sure you can’t freak people out even with the knowledge psychology,” Connor let out a laugh, his facial features softened as he met Markus’ wandering gaze, “But I do know you’re occupied with a lot of stuff already, with the arts and soccer, and many other things.”

“It sounds like you do know about me, then.”

“I’m trying to not sound like a stalker, Markus, but I would be lying if I say I don’t recognize you. You were the student representative in my freshman orientation, and I still remember your passionate speech from more than a year ago. I don’t want to be exaggerated, but you inspired me in more than one way.”

Connor stared into his eyes with a certain sincere, Markus knew he wasn’t just trying to flatter him or searching some favors in return, and this kind of rareness made his ears burn a little. “This is so embarrassing, seriously, I told them the student representative speech thing wasn’t a good idea…”

“On the contrary, that was a brilliant idea, and I know a lot of people were just as impressed as me.”

“No, please, stop—”

“Markus! There you are—why didn’t you answer my call? I couldn’t reach you so I just wandered around and—Oh, I’m sorry, you’re with company?” Markus was seriously about to blush, and the sudden interruption of Simon’s voice kind of saved him from further embarrassment.

“Simon, god, I’m sorry, I must had been talking to the barista when you called.” He stood up and gave his blonde friend a quick hug, before turning back to Connor, “We just met, but Connor here is a Psychology and Criminal Justice major, how cool is that? And this is Simon, the Sociology friend I was just talking about.”

“Nice to meet you.” Connor offered a polite greeting at his friend, and Simon’s glance kept jumping between the two of them.

“You just met, hm.” The blonde raised an eyebrow, “Nice to meet you, too…Wait, do you happen to work at the campus police department?”

Connor’s eyes enlarged a little at the question: “Yes, I do. Have we met before?”

“Uh-huh, I remember seeing you in the police department yesterday. I was picking up my trouble-making brat brother, only if he could stop engaging in semi-illegal behaviors…I think I should transfer to Criminal Justice just to keep an eye on him.”

“You work at the police department?” Markus was the one raised an eyebrow this time, asking with a note of astonishment in his voice.

Connor smiled at him, those confident eyes suddenly seemed a bit shy: “Only as an assistant, you know, the one that organizes documents and types the records.”

“Still, they don’t hire any non-CJ major for those confidential work. That’s really impressive, Connor.”

“Well, thank you, I guess, I’m just trying to help and learn.”

“Look at that, the virtue of humbleness, you two indeed have something special in common.” Simon commented with a mocking tone, but Markus knew he didn’t mean any harm, “You should come hang out with us, Connor.” Simon quickly took out a small business card from his jacket pocket like playing a magic trick, and handed the card to Connor with a grin.

“Simon! Honestly, stop sellingJericho like we are some suspicious religious group…” He almost rolled his eyes.

“It’s not selling, Markus, it’s call promoting. And we’ll be long dead if we all stop promoting and looking for sponsors like you do, thanks to me that we’ve got the ps4 in our meeting room. Besides, I’m sure your Criminal Justice major friend here would have at least some interest in a social activism group.”

“Right, the ps4 is totally unnecessary, I’m thinking about selling it for funds of the next event or donate it to the children’s foundation we visited last week. And please, stop the stereotyping as well…”

“Actually, I am highly interested in your social activism group.” Connor accepted the card in Simon’s hand, “Thank you, I think I will visit Jericho real soon.”

Simon gave him an “I told you so” face before quickly glance at his watch: “It’s almost ten, I’m starving, have you eaten yet?”

“No, I forgot the time when I was in the studio. I was thinking we can go grab food together so I came to find you. Do you wanna join us, Connor?”

“I’d loved to, but I have a dog at home and it’s almost his late night time.”

“Have a nice evening, then, it was nice meeting you. And you really don’t have to come to Jericho, but you’ll be welcome there if you do want to visit.” Markus landed out a hand to him for a shake, the young man’s hand was burning slightly, “Take care, Connor.”

“You too, take care, Markus.”

There was something burning in those big brown eyes as well, something so heated and genuine that almost made Markus flinch. He managed to keep his smile before turning his back and no one could see, another silent sigh escaped his lips as he followed Simon back into the dark night.

_It can’t be true, those beautiful eyes can’t be looking at you._

_The real you._

Those demonic voices came back to the back of his head again, telling him everything he saw was only illusory hope. They just met each other and somehow he felt like they were friends all along. Maybe in another life, Markus whispered to himself in his mind, maybe in another life, they had fought great dangers side by side and leaded a revolution together. 

Maybe in another life, the tiny spark he saw in the dead of night wasn’t another his delusion, and it would be warm and palpable, something distinct from the suffocating dust and interminable pain in this one.

** - **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now there's the calligraphy part, my shit-quality fic is the dust, and the golden verdure is the color of Jesse's beautiful eyes. I just can't get enough.  
> I don't know about you but I think my calligraphy is way better than my fic writing...And I'm just sorry :/ (Also, if anyone in this fandom needs calligraphy pic for their fics plz contact me lol)  
> So pretty much, Markus' depressed as hell but didn't even notice it. Connor noticed, and he was pretty direct in many things, but not sure about this one cos' he didn't wanna fuck it up.  
> I honestly don't know when or if I'll continue this story, but hey, who knows. Just. Don't put a hope on it, so you won't be disappointed too much.


	2. Inner Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) A lot of Jericrew and a long end note ahead.  
> b) Connor is Hank's _biological_ son and yeah, Cole is alive ;)  
> c) Thank you for all the kind comments and kudos, it really encourages me to write more.

**Each day goes by brings me closer to the end.**

**Bur you found me and I found myself,**

**when I drowned into your eyes**

**and saw you drowned into mine.**

**-**

Connor flipped the quarter in this hand, the coin danced in mid air before landing back to his finger tip, and got tossed back to the air again. Sumo snored at his feet by the couch, unlike Hank, the sound of his flipping coin did not seem to bother the Saint Bernard at all. Connor smiled at the sight of a sleeping puppy, he put the coin back into his left pocket, on the way out his fingers grasped onto the business card, he took it out like it was another his coin trick.

Light-blue color paper with a beautiful cursive script “Jericho” written on it, he had no doubt this design came from hands of an artist, it looked somehow more lively than all the business cards he had seen. But, to be fair, most of the cards Connor seen before were from a cop or a detective.

His thought ran to a certain individual with honey brown skin and sharp cheekbones and mismatched eyes and god those eyes are so beautiful and he was drowning in the golden green and ocean blue and…

Stop it, Connor, he told himself, nearly blushed to no one, you’re being a perv.

Connor had pictured Markus Manfred in many ways and many times before they had met, yet almost none of his imagination turned out to be true. There was an incident two nights ago and it triggered some unpleasant memory in Connor so he snapped, that’s how he bumped into _the_ Markus Manfred, at his lowest moment.

Markus was so empathetic and gentle from the very beginning, and it wasn’t something Connor imagined him as. He had thought the natural leader would be more confident and aggressive, not in a bad way, just maybe more direct and determined in the way he deal with things, especially strangers. But Markus approached him without a crash, offered him a hand and warm smile. He was shaking and out of breath, but those heterochromia eyes gazed into him with caring and tenderness. He didn’t see him as weak or suspicious, he simply saw a man in need so he offered to help without a doubt.

Now he really felt guilty about picturing him as someone aggressive before, he should’ve known better than judging people carelessly. Maybe it was because how all the people described him, along with those events Markus attended and the speeches he gave. He looked like the type of people consistently chasing something, fame, maybe, considering how he really seemed to be abundant in all other things.

They said he was pretty, and Connor believed it in a blink, for the first time he laid an eye on him, in that freshman orientation, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the man was. They said he was a straight-A student, and Connor believed that as well, seeing how many times he distantly saw him sitting in a corner of the library basement, attentively reading a book. They said he was rich as well, this however, Connor still held a doubt, but if it were true that he came from a famous painter family, then it wouldn’t be too much of a surprise.

Connor knew many of those theories about Markus were wrong the second they spoke. If Markus was truely chasing fame, he would never downplay any of this achievement.

There was a line between being humble and being overmodest, and Connor could never forget how soft and sincere his voice was. If Markus was an actor all along, he would be too good of an actor and Connor was confident about his eyes of a detective’s son.

Markus was a fascinating character to him, and he couldn’t wait to find out more.

Because there’s something in those mismatched eyes, something behind the polite smile that he left unsaid, and he could sense that no one else had solved the puzzle as well. The intriguing and mysterious persona challenged him to find out more, and it lit up the flame in Connor’s left chest.

He wasn’t simply playing detective, he justified the burning itch for himself, he saw something in Markus that he could identified with, they were similar in some indescribable ways.

Markus was drowning, just like himself. 

The difference was the famous Jericho leader seemed insensitive about it, and Connor wished he could help, just like how Markus had helped him. He captured it with his eyes and now he couldn’t unseen his struggle.

Of course, he wasn’t lying when he said he was interested in social activism group, but their leader himself was way more interesting and _attracting_ to him.

It might be a case study, but he had never been so genuine about one.

The picture of Markus’ golden green _and_ ocean blue eyes came back to him, Connor almost missed the fact that he was smiling to the business card between his fingers.

“Hey Con’,” His thought was interrupted by a familiar voice, he lifted his eyes to see his dad ambling out of the kitchen, “So what’s the plan this afternoon? You gonna watch some Gear’s game with me or what?”

“Good to see you finally woke up, Hank. I picked up Cole from his painting class, yet it was supposed to be _your_ job, but you’re welcome.” His eyes softened as his dad reached a hand to caress Sumo’s thick fur, “Though I’d love to watch basketball with you, I actually have to go out in just a minute. Besides, I think I like soccer more now.”

“Go out? Soccer? What the fuck? Who are you and what did you do to my elder son?” Hank rolled his eyes, and Connor laughed at his expression.

“I’m going to check out a student club of our school, it’s a social activism group.”

“Seriously? Just suddenly you decided to social now? After all these years?” Hank exploded in disbelief.

“Well, not really, I’m just going to take a look and see if it’s worth devoting. They had done great work in the past though, I don’t think I would be disappointed.”

“For fuck’s sake at least you still talk like a robot so I know you’re the real Connor…” Hank put down the ice-chilled beer bottle he just grabbed from the kitchen a second ago on the coffee table, and sat down on the other end of the sofa, “Just, have fun, you’know, actually meet someone or somethin’. But soccer? Really? Since when? I…forget it, just go, get outta this house, we’ll talk about the soccer thing next time. _Seriously_.”

Connor put the card back to his pocket and stood up from the sofa, offered a smile to the elder man in return: “Have a nice day, dad.”

*

When Connor walked out of the elevator at the sign of 11th floor, he was amazed at how the Jericho office looked like. First of all, he didn’t actually imagine Jericho had its own office, instead of sharing the meeting room provided by the university with all other student organizations. And it wasn’t like an office of those business firms either, considering how it’s set inside an _apartment_ building around the campus. They redecorated one of the units in a twenty-flight apartment building, kept the door half-open and there’s an engraved midnight-blue sign of “Jericho” on the pinewood.

Cole’s painting class was talking about minimalism today, Connor wouldn’t say he knew much about art, but when he politely knocked the Jericho office door twice before letting himself in, “minimalism” was the first word he could think of the interior decoration. Light wallpaper and dark furnitures of common office decor in what was supposed to be the living room, afternoon sunshine leaked through the huge glass at the end of the room, filling the space with natural lighting. Stuffed bookcases lined up by the window frame all the way to the ceiling, this room indeed seemed closer to a study than any flat living room.

Connor quickly spotted a few people inside the room, but before he could say a word or move any closer, the blonde sitting by the office desk to the left of the window smiled at him: “Welcome to Jericho. Nice to see you again, Connor.”

That’s Simon, Connor could never forget those crystal blue eyes and subtle smile, he always seemed to have something to say behind that smile, yet he chose not to spill a word.

“So,” Connor recognized the voice was from a female figure siting on the leather couch, crossing her legs and studying him with a pair of enigmatic hazel eyes, “you’re the detective friend Markus was talking about, right?”

Connor blinked: “Hello, my name is Connor, I’m—”

“Excuse her,” The smile Simon kept froze a little, throwing a glance at her direction shortly before back to Connor, “she didn’t get her chocolate today so she’s in a bad mood, I blame that on Josh stealing snacks. Anyway, good to see you decided to come, Connor, now behold, meet the leaders of Jericho! This is North, she’s a chem major and she once built a bomb, no jokes. This is Josh over there on his laptop, he’s a future educator. He works in a local kindergarten and I think those little demons finally got into him. And there’s Markus—in the kitchen—who doubles in Arts and Linguistics, he’s secretly a robot but like, with too much empathy. And I’m Simon, the handsome and smart one in this group. Everyone, this is Connor, he’s a detective and he had a bad habit of being humble.”

“Oh no please not another humble one—”

“You look cute like my Corgi at home—”

Josh and North commented synchronously.

“Now, excuse _them_ ,” Markus greeted him with a smile as he walked out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee, Connor discerned that he didn’t make a sound while walking, just like one of those alley cats, “Nice to see you, Connor. Please, ignore them, Simon’s getting too much influence by his brother. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Wait, are you a robot? Because my dad said I was one, too.

“Sure, thank you.” He nodded at Markus, “And thanks for having me here, nice to meet you all.”

“No problem, take a booklet on the coffee table, it has all the projects we’re doing and some events schedule, and feel free to ask any of us if you have any question.” Markus handed him a paper cup filled with the dark liquid, their fingers touched for a split second before he felt the warmth of the coffee, “Now we got the business part out of the way, feel free to join us on the couch. I still haven’t sold the ps4 in the rec room, but I think it’s still logged into Simon’s account.”

“Simon can you please finish whatever that sci-fi game you’re playing already, it’s been there for over a week and I can’t even play Hitman.” North sneered at the man behind the office desk, her curly strawberry-blond hair loosed on her shoulder, a one-side undercut made she appearance as sharp as a grazing blade. Simon, on the country, with clean-cut golden hair piled up with hair gel, dark-grey hoodie in contrast with his pale skin tone, those dreamy blue eyes and tender smile presented him as soft and intuitive. His words, however, went down a different direction as he mocked back at the lady: “That shit is really violent, North, you like to kill every NPC in the level, that’s not how the game supposed to be played.”

“And you’re the one chose the revolutionary road! And what about the dirty bomb you kept!”

“Okay, I think you two are worse than the children in my class.” The dark-skin young man let out a sigh as he shifted a glimpse between North and Simon, his slim fingers never stopped drumming on the keyboard. There’s a cartoonish natural scene printed on his light-beige t-shirt, Connor realized it must be a uniform since there was a line of “Saint Rose Pre-School” written on top of the childish drawing. *

“Alright, kids, be civil to each other. I know you’re all stressed and need a way to release the pressure…but dirty bomb, really? Simon, I’m fairly disappointed.” Markus joined the discourse with a shake of head.

“Me too, Simon, I was expected Markus to be the one finally cracked and kill everyone, not you out of all people.”

“Josh, where did that come from—”

“So,” A light grin climbed back to Connor’s face, he found himself infected with the delightful spark in their harmless jokes, “what is this game about?”

*

Two hours later Connor found himself sitting on the rec room couch, a frosty-glazed beer bottle between his knees that left a trail of wetness on his washed jeans, yet his hands were too busy dragging the controller to save the fabrics.

“Get the fucking gun in the drawer and kill that motherfucker! Quick!” North’s voice almost growling at his left ear, her eyes fixed on the screen so attentively that she forgot the popcorn in her hands.

“No! Protect the little girl! Go to check on her first!” Josh opposed immediately after North’s plan, he was sitting on the armchair next to the coffee table, fingers crossing nervously.

“Guys, maybe we should try to reason…” Simon’s voice came from his back as he pacing constantly behind the sofa.

“NO!” And North and Josh did not appreciate his advice.

Connor was so concentrated on the control that he didn’t even hear their argument after that, until the protagonist and the little girl sat side by side in their run-away bus, his fingers were still slightly shaking.

“ _That_ was intense—” Connor let out a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding, and handed the controller to North, “I really need a break for that, shit.”

“I know, right? The first time I played this game, I just screamed.” Simon offered a knowing smirk.

“Okay it’s my turn now, no spoilers Simon…”

Walking out from the small lounge Connor realized it was already dark outside, sprinkles of city light preaching through the thin glass, only to jump in the abyss of Markus’ eyes. He approached the side of Markus, who was standing by the window. The way his eyes stared into the pitchy sky revealed that he was sinking in his own thoughts, and it took a while longer for him to notice Connor was blinking at him.

Their eyes met but both kept silent for a moment, the mixture of glacial moonlight and sizzling street lights flickered in Markus’ irises, illumined those darker shades back to vivid as he recognized Connor.

The corner of Markus’ lips twisted upwards: “I’m sorry, the three of them can be really loud sometimes.”

Connor could heard North’s high-pitch groaning mixed with exclamations and laughters of the others, even when the door to the lounge was closed. It was then when he noticed the living room was quite dark and gloomy, the only source of luminosity was the warm orange lamp on the office desk. Another shard of reality suddenly hit him: Markus never joined their exciting gameplay session, he was reading some documents in the actual office and staring at the nightfall city sight all along.

Markus seemed…He tried to pick the right word, but it was never that effortless. Markus was alone, independent, unattached. He was in no doubt zealous about many things, like exerting himself for Jericho. He was amiable and well-mannered, rational and decisive. He was a duality of calmness and courage, he could follow and he could lead.

And maybe, just maybe, he was lonely, too.

“Oh no, it was fun, I was enjoying it a lot. This is nice, having a group of friends like Jericho. I’ve never felt this kind of relationship dynamic before, thank you for having me.” It wasn’t a lie, Connor was devoted into socializing for the first time since—he couldn’t even remember, but the atmosphere among them felt so lively that he nearly forgot about time.

“You give thanks a bit too much, don’t you think?” Markus’ smile widened a little, “They like you a lot, I can tell, though North won’t ever express it, it doesn’t take too much effect and knowledge of human psychology to notice.”

“Well, yes, I think she added me into a Jericho group chat or some sort…”

“You’re a nice guy, Connor, we all like you. Whether you’re interested in our events or not, you should come to Jericho more to hang out, as a friend.”

“It would really be my honor, Markus, thank—” He swallowed back the appreciation, “It really is, I’m not kidding. I don’t think I’ve ever had friends like this before, and all your works are amazing as well. Josh was just telling me about the children’s foundation you visited last week, you truly can bring people inspiration, Markus.”

“Do I really though?” His words made Markus avoid his gaze, his head turned away to gape out the window frame yet again, “I didn’t do anything, I never did anything special. Those kids, they were lost and lonely, anyone could’ve reached out to them, and they would have a smile with the same, or more amount of merriness.”

Without a wave of emotion in his voice, those words actually hurt. It hurt Connor to listen to this kind of comments. Markus stated it like a fact, and Connor knew there would be no way, and certainly not his place, to argue with the other man. Markus had said the same thing the night he helped Connor, that he didn’t do anything. But did he really believe in his own words like this, so profoundly and unshakably? What he did that night was not “nothing”, doing nothing would be walking away with indifferent eyes even after spotting him half-ruined, doing nothing would be turning around to evade trouble or dubiousness, doing nothing would be sneering at his suffering and incapacity.

But Markus had chosen to succor and comfort him, to protect him from further harm, to care about him.

In a world of apathy and selfishness, how could anyone like Markus be so heartfelt, and yet still believe they’re “doing nothing”?

“You don’t know that, but you do know that you’re the one reached out after all.”

This time, Markus didn’t answer, but Connor knew he wasn’t wrong.

The mystery behind Markus Manfred confused Connor in so many ways, and he still had much more yet to investigate. He acted like ordinary people but he was not an ordinary persona, whether he himself believed it or not. Something prior to this life must had…contributed to the way he was now, just like how the past always influenced the present. Connor’s blood boiled in his veins just thinking about how intriguing this character could be, a subtle tingle that he would call detective instinct lit up the thrill of the hunt.

But there’s more to that, there’s…They’re friends now, and friends are supposed to be caring for each other, so it’s natural for him to take care of Markus when no one else’s there to take the responsibility, right? At least that’s what Connor had been told, and there’s no obstacle he couldn’t conquer, friendship or human emotions.

He told himself that this time, he won’t fuck it up anymore.

“What is rA9?” Before deliberating a detailed plan, he asked about this instead, “There’s a framed photo on the wall of the lounge, says rA9, what does it represent?”

His question seemed to catch Markus’ attention again, he titled his head as the other man looked back into his eyes. “That is…” Markus paused for a second before continued, “rA9 can be anything, that’s what it represents. It is a state of mind, a place where you found your inner strength. It’s a myth, and whatever you want to believe in. Josh thinks rA9 is a religious sign, North presumes the opposite. In Jericho people believe rA9 can bring them hope and courage, but hope is conveyed in different forms in everyone, it does not have a common physical feature yet it encourages us to seek the truth and fight for a better life. So, you can think of rA9 as anything you want to believe in, anything that sets you free, and gives you inner strength.”

For a second Connor was speechless. “I—I didn’t expect you to be a philosopher.”

“Well, now you know then, Plato is my all time favorite.” Markus’ smiled at him.

Connor didn’t really expect Markus to talk about Myth or Philosophy, because he seemed like a man ground in reality and assiduous work. But he was an artist after all, the one equipped with the wildest creativity and knew the strongest ways to convince. The vines drummed on his temples, the confusion and curiosity urged him to entreat more knowledge of this man.

Markus was a beautiful sign of duality, and Connor found himself drowning in those undetectable enigmas.

“So what about you? What do you see in rA9? Dose it give you the inner strength you need?” He chewed on his lower lips, launching questions with caution.

The glimmers in those mismatched eyes died out as soon as he heard his inquiry, his lips parted and trembled slightly, before they closed back up and unuttered words were swallowed. Markus turned around and took a step back from the window, he expression was fully concealed by the shadow when he finally decided to break the taciturn: “It was nothing, the rA9, neither a religious sign nor a famous motto. My dad bought it from a random street artist when he was traveling in Sweden years ago, that guy was too high to explain what it means, but my dad thought it was a cool art piece.”

That’s not my question, Connor wanted to reply.

It drove him insane inside to see Markus kept evading his questions and attention, the anxiety rubbed under his skin almost bursted to an unbearable level. He wanted to shout and cracked Markus’ head open, so that he could finally see—

But he needed to keep his calm, keep it slowly and steady, keep their inter-personal relationship from totally ruined when it just started.

He could only assumed the answer was negative, that Markus did not seek his inner strength in rA9, so what was pushing him to achieve if not hope and comfort? Was it anxiety about future, or was it his father?

What was he chasing, if not any of those obvious answers?

He kept his silence and stopped pursuing at the end, so Markus went to gather the video game group for dinner, and they didn’t spoke about it again the whole night.

Connor believed in rA9, though it might look absurd as he was just enlightened about this concept.

To Connor, rA9 was not an abstract ideology, rA9 was a person. The same person that reached out for him with infinite tenderness in those eyes, the same person that ignited his curiosity and enthusiasm, the same person that delivered him inspiration and inner strength in this what was supposedly tedious and miserable life.

** - **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The human supervisor in Stratford Tower front desk has a daughter attends “Saint Rose School.” I’m just that creative.
> 
> -  
> This fic turned from a self-indulgent random piece to a sort of writing experiment, so it may feel a bit different than ch.1. Again, I'm just sorry for my bad writing...  
> It's burning slower than I expected, and the whole fic is gonna have more conversation than action. And I made everyone in Jericho too sassy but hey, this is Jericho right, everyone's consistently disagreeing with each other lol.  
> Also, maybe I'm wrong, but I don't remember Markus seeking rA9 in game. Many believe rA9 is real and can free them (eg. Luther) but the time in Jericho Markus was like "I have so many doubts" and "I don't want this freedom" and sitting like a greek sculpture in that church drowning in his own head. So I wander what he thinks about rA9 and after being the leader, others see him as the robo Jesus.  
> So Connor is getting more and more frustrated and has so so many questions, but at least his sempai noticed him... :D
> 
> Here are some of my plans for this fic, yet I still don't know if I'll write any:  
> a) There's gonna be more about Connor's family. He'll talk about it eventually.  
> b) Markus needs a therapist but I honestly don't know how.  
> c) Connor's gonna get drunk at some point.  
> d) I'm very tempted to ship Simon and North, just saying.
> 
> So far I'll keep writing what's in my head but absolutely no promise I'll post any or ever finish this story. Slow burn is not really my specialty (my specialties are comedy and smut, but where??) and I've only started to explore about Markus (not even started to explore Connor yet), I don't know how it'll go. But thanks for the comments and all.  
> And hey, did I mention how bad my writing is? Nvm I'll just say it again...


End file.
